


Weathered Glass

by imperfectkreis



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:30:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something to be said about maintaining a safe distance. There is something to be said for being reckless.</p><p>A couple of pining scenes with a sex scene ending.</p><p>I added a second thing because...yeah. Intercrural is sort of my jam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you have to be so loud?” Hanzo rasps through parted lips. He clenches his teeth together, trying to suppress whatever noise will betray him next. Though, at the pace they sway together, it may very well be his hands that are most treacherous, as the reach up to curl around Jesse’s arms, locking the pair together.

Though the cramped space is mostly dark, Hanzo can still see the smile Jesse can’t stop. What little light seeps under the door gets caught in Jesse’s yellowed teeth. His breath smells of ash. But they’ve been on assignment for hours, when did he find time to smoke?

“Speak for yourself, darlin’,” Jesse shifts just an inch, but it feels like waves, their bodies crashing, breaking up into foam. But really, this operation would have gone much better, had the blueprints of the building been accurate. Now they have no choice but to wait, standing chest to chest, listening for footsteps, awaiting their signal to move. 

Jesse rests his hand at Hanzo’s hip. There are layers of fabric and leather that keep them parted. But as the minutes tick by, heat seeps through the fibers, blooming like a bruise Hanzo will be unable to see in the days to come. But he cannot help but think he’ll be haunted. 

No matter, there are spirits with sharper teeth that will chase away the specters Jesse leaves behind.

\--

“I was about to retire with a bottle,” Jesse lifts the crystal decanter he's procured. Inside the liquid is darkened amber. It seems out of character for Jesse to use fine glassware. When Hanzo takes the bottle from his hands, turning it over, he realizes the glass has been poorly cut. It’s some mass produced garbage.

“Where did you get it?” He pops the stopper off, bringing his nose just above the rim to inhale. The scotch is not of poor quality. The mystery continues. 

Jesse holds out his hand to take the decanter back. When Hanzo passes it over, Jesse clutches it to his chest. “Let’s not talk technicalities. So,” Jesse smiles, “my room?”

This time it is Hanzo’s feet that disobey, padding along behind Jesse as they make their way to his quarters. Jesse keeps the crystal bottle tucked under his arm as he works the key into the lock, muttering, “It sticks,” when the door takes too long to open.

Clearly, Jesse doesn’t have the matching set of tumblers that go with the decanter, pouring out decent scotch into empty coffee mugs. He passes the first to Hanzo. When Hanzo looks at the bottom, he can still make out the coffee ring through the layer of liquor. 

“Sorry if it’s not up to your exacting tastes,” Jesse downs his first shot easily, placing the mug back on the table to pour a second one. But he lets it linger, not bothering to pick it up. One is not meant to drink scotch with such...enthusiasm.

Frowning, Hanzo takes the drink, trying to ignore any potential uncleanliness. Just because the cup is stained with age, doesn't make it unsuitable to drink from. He has weathered far worse. He takes his first sip.

The scotch sits warmly in his stomach, as does the second sip. It's pleasant. Jesse’s voice is pleasant too, though he speaks of nothing in particular. Half of his words are boasts about himself, the other half, compliments he pays to Hanzo. By the time Hanzo retires to bed, he is glad Jesse extended the invitation, and he is happy he accepted.

\--

Stained teeth graze at the nape of Hanzo’s neck. Pleads of, “Darlin’, darlin’, please.” Jesse bends his back to reach Hanzo’s throat, bends his words into what he thinks Hanzo wants to hear. His hands shift from Hanzo’s hips, skimming up his sides, but not lingering, even when skin rakes against skin as Jesse’s soft, organic, hand touches along Hanzo’s chest. Jesse’s hands don't deviate, trailing until they cup Hanzo’s face.

With eyes wide, dark, and glassy, Jesse breathes through his open mouth. His lips just slightly puffy, teeth almost bared. “If you're goin’ to run out on me again,” his thumb moves just slightly. The metal one holds still. Hanzo can feel the cold digits grow warm, as they siphon heat from his flesh. “You should leave now.”

There's a tenuous hope in Jesse’s voice. One Hanzo shouldn't tear apart with laughter. But he does, he cannot help it, the suggestion is too absurd. “When have I run out on you?” Hanzo smiles, tilting his head in the shell of Jesse’s hands. “Tell me?”

He takes his own hands to Jesse’s waistband, leaving the oversized buckle firmly in place, he tugs at Jesse’s undershirt, sliding his hands between fabric and skin. Jesse hisses. Hanzo’s fingers are perhaps a bit cold. There is a softness to Jesse’s stomach, though his build is long and without much bulk.

“Took you to my room lots of times before. You never stay.”

“Mmh,” Hanzo almost agrees. “Did you ever invite me to spend the night?”

“Not in so many words,” Jesse admits.

Pushing his hands further up Jesse’s chest, Hanzo dips his calloused fingers into long-healed scars, where the skin will never be the same. Too many fractures to number, to patch, or to ignore. “So it would seem, you are a poor host,” Hanzo smiles.

“Let me make it up to you, darlin’? Show you how hospitable I can be?”

Hanzo starts the steady process of backing Jesse towards his bed, not stopping until the backs of Jesse’s long legs hit the bed frame. “And how might you do that?” This playful, flirtatious teasing is more tolerable, far more tolerable, than all their moments of silent intimacy. Times when they said nothing, waiting for instructions, drinking in the evenings, listening to each other breathe. They still fail to be forthright with one another, but perhaps it is still too soon.

Jesse takes the cue to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving his knees spread wide. “We could start by getting comfortable,” he smirks, but Hanzo can read his hesitation. “We might be overdressed.”

Hanzo grunts wordlessly. He has no shame in stripping down. The look on Jesse’s face makes the boldness of the gesture so, so worth it. The cowboy’s tongue practically on the floor as he stares.

Taking the time to drape his garments over Jesse’s desk chair, Hanzo mocks, “Now who is running from the inevitable?”

Lifting his hips from the mattress, Jesse shoves out of his jeans after fumbling too long with his buckle. The straps on his chest piece come next. There are entirely too many pieces to shed. Hanzo makes no move to help him, finding himself in quite the reverse position, it takes an admirable show of will to keep quiet, keep still, as Jesse’s dark skin comes into view in long stretches.

“Better?” Jesse asks, standing straight and his cock growing hard against his thigh. Perhaps, had they tried to undress each other, they would have already spent themselves.

Hanzo shoves Jesse again, taking him to the mattress. Though this time Jesse lands flat on his back, a dull ‘oof’ as the air is ripped from his lungs. Straddling Jesse’s thighs, Hanzo takes both their cocks together in his grip, though his fingers can't quite make it all the way around.

The friction is too dry, precum along both their tips not nearly enough. But Jesse reaches under his pillow, drawing out a bottle of lubricant before dropping his head back down to the mattress. “Shit, darlin’, thought I was supposed to help you.”

Hanzo smiles, “You are helping.”

Jesse manages to get the bottle uncapped, dribbling lubricant messily over their cocks. Hanzo breaks their rhythm only just enough to slick his palm before going back to tight strokes that keep them both bound.

While the sensation of skin on skin is pleasant, Jesse’s cock hard against his own, it is the sight of it that is most erotic, how they don't quite fit in Hanzo’s hand. But they are warm and slick and Jesse wraps his hands, slightly moist, around Hanzo’s hips, letting nail and metal bite into hard muscle. Hanzo can feel every shiver of Jesse’s body below him, every quiet quake. When Jesse breathes it's shallow, ragged. He wants this. They want this.

As Jesse comes, he closes Hanzo in the circle of his arms, pulling their chests together, bringing their lips to meet. Hanzo is not far behind, spilling messily between their bodies. Their kiss keeps them both achingly quiet. And that hint of fear returns at the crown of Hanzo’s mind, just above his eye sockets. That this may be more than a distraction. That Jesse may yet become a wound, one that festers, refusing to heal. Leaving them more vulnerable together than they would be apart.

As they separate to breathe, Jesse mumbles to Hanzo not to move, he’ll get something to clean them up. But before he stirs, he kisses Hanzo once more. “Better than my imagination could ever figure,” Jesse says.

Despite all his trepidations, Hanzo agrees.


	2. Chapter 2

“You could start by telling me something about yourself?” Jesse offers, drumming his fingers against Hanzo’s sternum. The beat is hauntingly irregular. Not Hanzo’s heartbeat, not Jesse’s own. It doesn't keep steady enough for Hanzo to force the thumping into a coherent pattern. He gives up. Allows Jesse to fidget as he likes. It appears to bring him comfort.

The room is dark, other than the neons, seeping in, between the broken blinds. Jesse tries to set them straight, when they first checked in, but only succeeded in knocking them more askew. 

Diffused, the lights cast pastel shadows over them both, pink and faded greens. Too soft, delicate, for either of them. But the lights don't turn off. Even at four in the morning.

Hanzo exhales, “You've read my file.” A few panels of fill-in-the-box demographics, combat training from a drop down menu, then paragraph after paragraph of information relevant to anyone asked to be deployed alongside him. Everything has been organized. Each member of Overwatch reduced to easily digested packets of information.

He's read Jesse’s start to finish. Just as he's read everyone else's. Jesse should have done the same.

Jesse props himself up on his elbow, “I'm not interested in what's in your file.” Hanzo can practically hear Jesse’s eyes rolling. “Wanna know something not in there. Something about you.” He presses his mouth, still coarse and strangely large, despite the thinness of his lips, to the cut of Hanzo’s jaw.

“You know my brother as well,” Hanzo says in a creeping monotone. Genji and Jesse get along well. They talk easily and laugh often. Hanzo isn't jealous. He is glad they like each other. It is good for them. He assumes, at least once or twice, he has been a topic of conversation between them. 

Jesse is smart enough to know he's being fucked with, laughing deeply at Hanzo’s side. “One day, darlin’, I'll get you boozed up enough to spill your guts.”

“Oh? And what sort of ‘guts’ are you hoping for?”

“You know,” Jesse smiles, “the real dirt. Your favorite color, your hobbies, what you like to eat, that's not shitty rations. You're not giving me much to work with, when it comes to this boyfriend thing.”

Hanzo groans. He can't say he cares for the term. “Boyfriend.” They are hardly boys and barely friends. But he likes “lover” even less. There is no space for...that possibility. And euphemisms do not sit well with him, reminding him too starkly of the man he used to be. Of a past he can't correct. The only other alternative Jesse offered, at the time the topic was openly broached some weeks ago, was “fuckbuddy.” And Jesse had managed to say it in such a lascivious way, a fat cigar between his teeth and a glass of whiskey in his hand. Hanzo considered pouring his own glass over Jesse’s face as a petty counter action. 

Besides, while they sometimes fuck, even Hanzo can admit, this is more than that.

Because he likes...this.

He likes waking up with Jesse’s large frame curled up beside him, his hair a glorious mess and lips slightly parted. He likes knowing that Jesse misses him, when they are apart. He likes that Jesse chooses to stand next to him at briefings and doesn't actually take Hanzo’s bullshit, when he crosses the line from stubborn to petulant. He may call Hanzo out with a smile, but he still doesn't bite his tongue. 

Hanzo likes that they fit together, even if the seams are not a perfect match. 

It still feels too weird to talk about himself, so instead Hanzo tips his head and takes Jesse’s lips against his own, working them both open with gentle, confident swipes of his tongue. Jesse gives as much as he takes, rolling onto his back and tugging at Hanzo until he climbs on top, straddling on either side of Jesse’s hips.

“So, do you still want to talk?” Hanzo asks, spreading his fingers wide across Jesse’s chest, catching thick clumps of dark hair between his fingers.

Jesse groans, “You tricked me.”

“Hardly,” Hanzo grinds his hips down, showing Jesse how little he wants to talk with the hard press of his cock through cotton. “I am always straight-forward in my desires.” Twisting his hands, he tugs sharply at Jesse’s chest hair, until Jesse gasps as reply.

“Lying doesn't suit you,” Jesse smiles, reaching up to drag Hanzo back down by his shoulders, so they can lie, chest to chest.

They kiss again, and again, until they're tugging at the thin layers that keep them parted. Reverting back to the familiar comfort of skin on skin.

Jesse asks, so sweetly, so polite, to fuck between Hanzo’s thighs. He's been thinking about it for weeks now, when they couldn't be together. The way the swell of Hanzo’s ass would look with his cock in between. What a gorgeous picture that would make. To make his point, he slots one hand where he wants to put his cock, bushing against the underside of Hanzo’s balls.

Hanzo can't help but laugh at Jesse’s earnestness. They're in a middling motel, where they're not responsible for the cleanliness of the sheets when they leave.

They switch positions, with Hanzo rolling onto his stomach, half-hard cock pressed against the mattress. Jesse takes his time, stroking over Hanzo’s back, roaming down to his ass and squeezing tight. He dribbles lubricant over Hanzo’s thighs, working it in with careful hands, slicking where his cock is meant to slide. Teasingly, he brushes two fingers against Hanzo’s hole, but doesn't dip inside. They haven't tried. It doesn't suit them. Especially on assignment. Or when there may be a deployment coming up. Trying now is futile.

Another round of shuffling around gets Jesse’s cock between Hanzo’s thighs. Hanzo tightens the muscles in his legs, gripping tight around Jesse’s shaft, warm and slick against his skin.

Once they've got the angle right, Jesse’s hips move faster, harder against Hanzo’s waiting flesh. Leaning forward, he licks over Hanzo’s shoulder, scraping teeth when he gets close enough to bite. Doesn't though. Jesse stops short, but leaves Hanzo’s skin damp.

Jesse’s cock brushes against the underside of Hanzo’s balls on each stroke. Hard, weeping precum against the sheets, Hanzo knows he’ll get his turn next. Besides, this is pleasant, feeling Jesse’s warmth, his attention boring down as he slides his cock along Hanzo’s skin. There's pleasure in that alone, the near-transient sensation of being wanted. But something, something always lingers.

When Jesse comes, breathing heavy and spilling sticky-wet in between Hanzo’s thighs, he mumbles sweet affections into Hanzo’s ear. Too sweet. For them. Hanzo won't correct him.

Rolling onto his back, Hanzo waits for Jesse to work him in his palm, but gets Jesse’s mouth descending on him instead. Warm and slick, wrapping against his shaft and plunging down. “Who is being duplicitous now?” Hanzo manages to croak.

He warns before he's about to come, clawing at Jesse’s shoulders, tightening his legs around Jesse’s head. But Jesse holds him deep, swallowing down twice as his mouth fills with Hanzo’s cum.

Afterward, they lay together, quiet. The room has two beds, but their packs occupy the other. Not as if Hanzo wants Jesse to leave. The buzz of neon is the loudest sound in the room.

“You should tell me something,” Jesse insists, though he sounds half-asleep already.

Maybe because Hanzo is tired too, exhaustion creeping through his veins, he replies, “We’re good together.”

“Yeah,” Jesse agrees. “We are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated  
> [tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


End file.
